


Never Too Late

by mcgoofys



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, TW: Suicide, tw: rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgoofys/pseuds/mcgoofys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dealing with the aftermath of Hoyt proves to be more than Jane Rizzoli can handle. She finds herself standing on the Tobin Bridge, prepared to end her own life. However, just as she's finalized her decision, someone stops her. Can this stranger be enough to talk her down or is there no going back for Detective Rizzoli?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Any errors are my own. I do not own these characters nor do I collect profit for them. Because we all know if I did, well I'd buy the show and my own network and no one would complain.
> 
> First I should start by saying that this idea was totally stolen from one of Gabby's (givemerizzlesorgivemedeath) painful tags. You can find her on tumblr, twitter, and I believe ff/here under that username. You can bet your butt you'll find some heartbreaking tags on her blog and I totally love her for it.
> 
> Aside from that this is just going to be three chapters.
> 
> This story triggers rape and suicide.

                Rain and rust covered her toes and there was a cold bite to the bottom of her feet. She glanced down to the water that felt like it was light years away. The sun peeked through dark clouds giving the water a gloomy emerald shade and ripples that matched her own dimples. She sat upon the railing, contemplating. Was it worth it? Was any of it worth it anymore? Around her, the world had gone silent. There was no impatient honking of horns, no screams to the idiotic bicyclist, and there certainly wasn’t somewhere in the city, a completely unacquainted, Angela Rizzoli.           

                Jane watched with wet eyes, unsure if it was from the rain or from the lack of meaning in life, as the water beneath her swung wrathfully like it was battling the dirt that fought through it. Soon, her body would be a soldier in the battle. She let out a stressed sigh. Because of _him_ , she didn’t fear death. She was well aware that one day she would die. Before him, she was sure it was far in the unforeseeable future. She hoped she’d die later on in her life with her family at her side. Now, she knew her death was going to be quiet. She wasn’t going to get to say goodbye because it would break their hearts. She wasn’t going to get one last hug or get to smile one last time. She couldn’t remember her last genuine smile or the last hug she’d accepted because she’d wanted it.

                The unimaginably excruciating truth was Jane Rizzoli died three weeks ago. The night Charles Hoyt forced her to face her own mortality. She was sure she was dying that night. She’d prayed to God. She’d whispered goodbyes to every important person in her life hoping somehow the wind carried the message to their ears. Charles forced her to see how she would die and now she couldn’t imagine living a life knowing that one day none of it would matter. One day she’d be buried six feet into the ground, rotting, or reduced to ash in urn or possibly spread into a river of her choice, while the rest of her friends and family lived their lives and tried to forget she’d ever existed because it hurt less that way. One day, she would no longer matter to the world. One day, she will not exist.

                Jane’s body was empty now. Deprived of faith and any shred of joy, she was stripped of a soul that night and now she had to end it all. She didn’t feel the pain anymore. It wasn’t fear that had driven her to this. It was the detachment that she’d felt that worried her. She’d stopped being afraid and feeling pain after the first week. Now she was numb to the entire spectrum of emotion. She couldn’t feel elation or contentment. She wasn’t angry or dismayed.

                Jane wasn’t living anymore. She was no longer humane. She was no longer _useful_. She just _existed_. She slid off the railing and landed on an equally rusted barrier with another railing surrounding it. On this side of the Tobin Bridge had been several other ledges that matched that one. She felt the slickness and cold in her palms as she wrapped her hands around the long bar just above her waist level. Jane looked down and watched the water dance like it wanted her, like it was seducing her. She wanted it too. She wanted it to taste her, swathe her, and pull her in deeper.

                “Are you okay?” Jane turned, clearly disconcerted. It wasn’t because of the immediacy of the voice, or the fact that someone had took the time to actually ask her if she’d needed help. It was that everyone and everything had drowned out of her ears like blood but somehow this voice hadn’t been.

                “Yeah…yeah, I-I’m just…watching.” She shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. Her jeans were wet from the rain and clung to her legs like a second layer of skin. Her answer was offhanded and a nippily conjured excuse. She hadn’t known what she was doing exactly; she just knew what she wanted to do.

                The woman twisted her tongue in her mouth and moved her jaw, studying Jane. The brunette felt scrutinized by the hazel eyes on her. They were daring her to move in the wrong way, they were daring her to lie. She shrunk back from the other woman’s stare and wondered how this woman _knew_. “Are you sure?” Her words were like tentative fingers pressing against her, checking to see if if she was damaged in any way. As if she were a child too proud to admit she was hurt, battered, and bruised.

                “I’m fine.” Jane’s gave a deep shrug. The necklace tucked under her shirt fell out and revealed the shape of a cross. It was common in catholic traditions, only Jane wasn’t a catholic anymore. She’d wondered if she’d ever truly believed in God. How could he let three innocent women die? “I’m just…thinking.” She turned around again, her hands were sore in her pockets. The woman was silent for a moment and Jane was sure she’d walked away. She couldn’t hear her anymore, and somehow the world wasn’t on mute anymore. She listened judiciously for that voice but the woman said nothing.

                Then she felt it…the hand on her shoulder. It was small and warm through the fabric of her soaked Boston PD Recruit shirt. The words were written in a faded green that could only be achieved by time and many washes. She wondered if they found her body would it be enough to link her back to her identity. She second guessed her decision to wear it as she jumped now. She didn’t want to be linked back to BPD. She didn’t want her family to know she was dead. Only gone.

                The woman was now on the ledge with Jane. The ledge Jane planned to throw herself from, eventually. “You might not want to do that, ma’am.” Jane opined, halfheartedly. It wasn’t this stranger’s safety she was worried about. It was her own. Because she knew that this woman was there to talk her down. She _couldn’t_ be talked down. She looked over to see the extraordinarily beautiful woman taking in short breaths. Sweat or rain collected at her brow. “Are you okay?”

                “I…have an irrational fear of heights.” She let out a tress of air that was bordering a laugh but just sounded hesitant and sheepish.

                Jane’s own brow was knitted together in curiosity and confusion. “That’s not irrational; you’re suspended in the air with some scrap metal to hold you.” It was the most absorbed Jane had actually been in a conversation since Hoyt. “Anyone should be afraid of that.”

                “Only 11.5 percent of bridges in the United States are considered structurally deficient.  The odds of this bridge being one of them are likely to be in my favor.”

                “Is that so?” The brunette asked, in a suspiciously teasing tone, much to her own surprise.

                The stranger nodded. “It is so.”

                There was an uncomfortable silence, at least for Jane. She wracked her brain for excuses to get this woman to leave. She wasn’t sure what drew her to this woman or drew the woman to her, but she knew that no one could change her mind at this point.

                “I’ve done a clinical rotation on human behavior.” Jane remembered the woman’s hand was still on her shoulder. Now it moved down her arm and over her hand. “I know what depression looks like. I…could see it in you.”

                “You don’t even know me.”

                “You looked desperate.”

                Jane’s laugh was dry, more like a heave of extreme anxiety and annoyance. “Yeah, desperate to fling myself over this damn thing.” She tried to shake the bar her hands were clinging to but really she shook herself.

                Sadness crossed the other woman’s eyes as her hand slid beside her and away from Jane. “Would you like to talk about it?”

                “Talk about what?” She didn’t want to sound punitive, but maybe it was the only way to be left alone. Because that was what she’d needed. To be alone.

                “This?” She gestured, to their surroundings…the water below them. “Talking about it helps.”

                “I don’t want help!” Jane snapped. Suddenly she hated herself. Because she felt. She felt anger. She felt _something_ and the entire plan was to do _this_ because she couldn’t _feel_ anything. Not only did she feel anger, but she felt guilty. This stranger was trying to help. She looked like she had a job to get to and she took the time to face her fear of heights just for a stranger like Jane.

                “I-I’m sorry.” The brunette sighed. “I…” She fell short of something to say. The sting of the apology on her lips was like poison and burned her. She was sorry and she wasn’t sure why. “I…tried to get help.” She looked down at the water. It was soothing, but it wasn’t as enticing as it had been before. “It didn’t work.”

                “I’m a doctor.” Jane cocked an eyebrow.

_Entirely too convenient._

“Medical Examiner.”

                “That’s not the type of Doctor that can help me.” Jane groaned and brought her hands to her face. “You can only help me _after_ I throw my damn self off this bridge and you’re left performing my autopsy. You do surgery on the already dead.”

                “I’m much more useful than my occupation.” She argued. “I studied a lot of human behavior in college.”

                “Why would anyone want to understand people?” The brunette let her hands fall. “What could you possibly want to know?”

                “How to interact with them.” Her voice was small, irresolute and indignant. “I…I had a hard time with people. I don’t understand them very well. Often, they don’t understand me very well either.”

                “I’m sorry.” Again, she felt guilt. This time there was an entirely different type of confusion twisting inside her like an intricate rope knot. She didn’t know why she felt guilty. She didn’t know this woman from Eve. She just knew something inside of her felt guilty for not being there.

                “You’re the Detective from the news.” She stated with absolute certainly. Her eyes glued on Jane’s bandaged hands. They were wrapped in medical tape.

                Jane wanted to lie. But she found herself nodding, instead.

                “I’m…sorry.” The brunette glanced at the other woman and found indulgent gaze lacking any trace of judgment for her decision now. “He was a monster.”

                “I know.” Of course _Jane_ knew. More than anyone, _she_ knew. It wasn’t that he’d almost killed her that she knew. It was that she’d watched what he did to his victims ritually and she was forced to live and remember it every second of every day for the rest of her life. She knew how cruel Charles Hoyt was. He had no soul, and he took hers away from her. It was the only way she could survive. To not feel a damned thing.

                “I’m Maura.”

                “Jane.”

                Another silence. The wind whispered around them like a hundred hushed voices at once. The ocean roared like drowning souls. Jane picked at the rust on the supposedly green bar in front of her, unsure of what to say next.

                “I’m still listening.” Maura told her, unwearyingly. As if the silence isn’t new to her. As if it’s something she’s used to and has become accustomed to being comfortable with. It pinched at Jane’s heart and made her feel something. She just didn't know what it is.

                “I watched him,” Jane pulled at the paint on the bar and peeled it. It revealed grey beneath it. “Kill three women in front of me.” She swallowed. When Maura didn’t say anything she sighed but continued. “There wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.”

                “Jane,” the way she said her name was like they’d known each other for years. It was like a soft caress. “No one blames you for what happened to those women.”

                “But they should.” Her patience came and went. “If I’d been better, I could have stopped him. I could have…saved them. I was stupid. I went without back-up and that one mistake was what could have saved all of our lives.” She was met with silence. She wondered if Maura was backtracking. Trying to find a way out. But, she couldn’t let her go now. This was something she hadn’t even told the psychiatrist the department had hired especially for her. If she was going to die today, she wanted someone to know. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own.

                “Maura,” the way she said this woman’s name was even odder. It was fraught and deprived and she needed this woman to understand her. She needed her to see the monster she was and yet she still wanted to be _accepted_ by this woman.  “The first woman’s name was Julie. I watched as he raped her. Repeatedly. The other women screamed and looked at me for help but I was nailed to the floor, literally. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try.” She rubbed her palms and winced at the pain she still felt there. She felt, more than saw, Maura take in her hands and massage the wounds with a tenderness she was incapable of for herself. Maura’s touch was an almost instantaneous tranquilizer.   

                “The second woman…Tamara…she’d just graduated college. She’d come to Boston to start her career as a teacher. Hoyt had got tired of raping and just went on to having fun. With her, he…” The truth was caught in her throat like a bone and she coughed. “He…opened her up. He took a scalpel and opened her chest. The last woman and I were left to watch as he performed an autopsy on a living woman.”

                “The last woman begged me to save her. I…I couldn’t handle it. I, I looked away when the bastard did whatever he did to her. It wasn’t until she stopped screaming that I could finally look again. I watched as the life slipped from her body, Maura. I watched him take another life and all I could think about was how I yelled at my Ma that morning about entering my apartment with the emergency key I’d given her.”

                “Jane,” Maura’s hands stopped massaging. It’d become a mindless task as she listened. “You were not responsible for what he did. You tried to save them.”

                “A decent cop- no anyone with common sense would have known to call for back-up.” Her jaw set for a moment. “Why couldn’t I?”

                Maura couldn’t answer for her. She wanted to.

                “I deserve to die.” Jane stated. “I died with those women. “

                “You are a fantastic cop,” Maura took each side of Jane’s face. The brunette was icy beneath the honey-blonde’s touch in more ways than one. “You have saved so many more lives. Each and every monster you put away saved more lives than any of us could calculate. Jane, you’re amazing at what you do. It’s one of the reasons every cop looks up to you.” Maura wasn’t exclusively certain but the way they talked about her, it certainly seemed like they all saw her as a hero.

                Maura could see it too, now.

                It was hard to think with Maura’s hands on her. Her pull to this woman vexed her. Their intimate immediacy disconcerted her. She was feeling again and it was strong like Maura had a direct grip on her heart. They were practically strangers, yet Jane listened to this woman more than she’d listened to anyone in the last three weeks. It was cliché and she desperately wanted to roll her eyes at herself.

But, she couldn’t focus on that. She couldn’t focus on how warm the woman before her was. It wasn’t just her hands or her skin, everything about her was warmth and light. It was everything Jane wasn’t. The woman before her was good, Jane could tell. So good it went past her beauty and skin, reverberated to her bones. She could tell because she’d once been that good. She’d been that pure before. Until she’d become a cop. Then she took lives. She hurt people. She watched people die. She was no longer warm or good. She was cold, much like her skin. She was dark. And she was evil.

Jane tried to focus on the hazel eyes that matched the waters beneath her, dancing and seducing her just as the angry current had before. If she watched them, she could forget about it all. She could get lost in trying to swim in the complexity of Maura’s eyes. She could lose herself trying to find the darkness inside of Maura. But, she couldn’t find any. She couldn’t find anything to break. Or to use against the other woman. She couldn’t find anything because it wasn’t there. So, she looked for anything. Pain, sorrow, resentment, anything she could find. During her quest, she forgot herself.

“Are you still with me?” Maura asked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She was teasing Jane, like she knew it wouldn’t set off a range of emotions. It didn’t. Somehow the joke put Jane at ease. Maura knew her. Even when she had no clue who _she_ was, Maura seemed to know her.

“I’m still with you.” Jane felt her cheeks moving, but it hadn’t registered yet. She was smiling. It wasn’t a large display of glee that reached her eyes and creased crow’s feet next to them, but deep down in her, there was _good_. It was like a diamond in the rough, buried deep down beneath the her dark surface and hidden within her core. With any glance, one couldn’t see it. It obviously wasn’t something that could be seen by a psychiatrist of even her Ma. There was _something_ worth being saved within her and it was fragile and precious.

And Maura saw it. Maura was holding it. “Good.”


End file.
